


Abandoned

by realmsoffreedom



Series: Outcasts [2]
Category: All Time Low (Band), Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Eating Disorders, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7236079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realmsoffreedom/pseuds/realmsoffreedom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard is starting his first year of college, and contrary to what he believes, it is infinitely better than high school. That doesn't bode well for Frank, who is trying to survive his junior year of high school while feeling completely alone. With their pasts, this year is going to be far from easy. Sequel to Outcasts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. I mentioned writing a sequel to Outcasts a couple months ago, and as school ended for me yesterday, I'm going to start posting it. Again, this story is going to be very triggering - if you're sensitive to anything I've tagged, be careful. As I did with Outcasts, I will include trigger warnings at the beginning of every chapter, and if you're triggered, you can message me on tumblr (theghostofashton), for a quick, untriggering synopsis of the chapter so you'll know what's going on in the plot. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter - anxiety, panic attacks, self-harm, depression, and suicide. 
> 
> Enjoy.

“Are you _sure_ you’ll be okay? I could ditch…”

“Your first day of college?” I roll my eyes. “You’re not ditching, Gee. Don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine.”

Gerard sighs, reaching for my hand. He worries too much. There’s a difference between being concerned and worrying too much for one’s own good, and he’s definitely the latter. He agonizes over problems that don’t even exist. It’s a result of crippling anxiety and I hate what it does to him.

I lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. “What are you really worried about, babe? Talk to me.”

He shrugs. “Just…I don’t want to do this by myself. I don’t know anyone at that school, and I don’t _have_ anyone. I don’t have people that’ll understand why I am the way I am, and excuse certain things I do, the certain ticks I have. In high school, before you, I had Mikey, Ray, and Bob, and then you, but here, I have no one. I’m all fuckin’ alone, Frankie.”

I don’t know what to say, because he’s right. He’s absolutely right. I would feel the same way if it were me. I’ve never wished to be older until now – the one thing I can’t change; I wish I could, just so Gerard isn’t left feeling so alone. 

“It’ll be okay,” I murmur, kissing him softly. “You’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

I sigh. “You’re going to art school. It’ll be an entire day of you doing what you love. You don’t have to talk to anyone; you just have to focus on your art and do the assignments you get. Everything will be okay, I promise.”

“The professors won’t understand me like Ms. Franklin did.”

“They won’t,” I agree. “But once they see what you can do, they’ll love you, just as much as she did. Your work is beautiful, baby. It doesn’t matter that you have a serious anxiety disorder and have problems talking to people. You’re at that school because of your art skills, not your social skills.”

He looks taken aback, shifting away from me slightly. “How did you know?” 

“Takes one to know one,” I reply. “And I’m your boyfriend. I know you.”

“I love you,” Gerard says. “I’m just so scared…”

“I love you more,” I whisper, kissing his cheek again. “And I know you’ll do amazing. Just breathe, baby. It’ll all work out.”

…

It took a while for me to calm Gerard down and make sure he wouldn’t have a panic attack, and in the end, I had to leave for school before I could make sure he was completely okay. I hate myself for it. 

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, slumping against the seat of the car and closing my eyes. “Why does school need to fuckin’ start so early?”

“You’ve been up since 4,” Bob says from the driver’s seat. “What’s your problem?”

“My boyfriend is probably gonna have a panic attack because he’s so worried about school today and I won’t be there to help him,” I mutter. “Why the fuck do we need to start the same day they do?”

“He’ll be okay,” Mikey reassures me, glancing in the rearview mirror to meet my eyes. “He’s strong. And mom will make sure he’s okay before he leaves. She wouldn’t let him out of the house if she knew he was going to have a panic attack.”

“I know. I just…wish I was older,” I mutter. “Wish I could be there to help him. I feel so fuckin’ useless because I can’t do anything other than tell him it’ll all be okay. If only I was fuckin’ older.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Mikey replies. “That’s the one thing you can’t change. Believe me, if I could make myself older, I would. I hate that he has to go through all of this by himself, but he’ll get through it.”

“His freshman year of high school was the definition of hell. I just hope his freshman year of college is better.”

“It will be,” Mikey says. “He’s stronger now. He has friends and a boyfriend and coping methods that don’t involve slitting his wrists. He’ll be okay.”

“I really fuckin’ hope you’re right.”

…

There’s a reason they say junior year is the hardest year of high school.

It’s only the first day, and I already have a ton of homework and multiple tests lined up in the coming week. It’s not the work that bothers me – it’s the idea of deadlines and the large amount of material covered in the small amount of time that really stresses me out. I’ve never been the type of person to handle stress very well, so this is particularly difficult. 

My method of dealing with stress has always been self-harm. I don’t remember the last time I dealt with anything without slitting my wrists and letting the sight of my blood calm me down. It’s a habit, a bad one, but something I’ve slowly gotten used to. 

I haven’t hurt myself in almost three months. Gerard and I spent the summer together, inadvertently helping each other keep from relapsing. Instead of relapsing, I turned to Gerard and let him hold me and make sure I didn’t end up doing it. I let him take care of me, because he understood exactly what I was feeling. He’s the only reason I got through the entire summer without adding any cuts to my arms. 

It’s so much harder now. He’s not here to be my source of respite, and I’m not there to be his. I don’t know how things are going to go without that, because we’ve slowly become so co-dependent, not realizing that eventually there’d come a time when we couldn’t depend on each other as much as we did. Great thinking on our part.

I need Gerard just as much as he needs me. He makes me feel safe, like I don’t need a blade to be okay. He makes me feel like eating is okay, like I don’t have to feel so fucking disgusting about myself every time I ingest something. It’s dangerous, putting all your trust in one person, not knowing what’ll happen in the future, but I know Gerard won’t hurt me. He’s been hurt too much for multiple lifetimes, he knows what it feels like, and he wouldn’t dare put me through the same thing.

…

“Gerard isn’t home yet, Frank. He called a little while ago and said he’d be late.”

My heart sinks to my stomach as Ms. Way speaks. I know this is a good thing, that he’s probably having a good time or he’s inspired and still working on a piece, but my day was the definition of shit and I was really hoping to see him and spend the afternoon cuddling with him to forget my awful day.

“Are you okay?” Mikey reaches out and places his hand on my shoulder, and I look up, shrugging. It’s not a lie. I don’t know if I’m okay anymore. 

“Dunno. I just need him.”

“Do you want me to call him?” Ms. Way asks gently. “I can ask him to come home if you really need him. I don’t think he’d mind.”

“No, that’s okay. Don’t bother him. I’ll be okay.”

“Come on, let’s go to my room and talk,” Mikey suggests. With a small smile to his and Gerard’s mom, I follow him up the stairs and into his bedroom, pulling at my sleeves and dragging them over my scarred wrists. Somehow, even seeing the white, fading scars is triggering for me. As if I couldn’t be more fucked up, seeing my scars makes me imagine blood all over my wrists, blood that would be there if I actually cut. It’s triggering as fuck. I trigger myself with my own hallucinations. How fucked up is that? Sighing, I slump onto the bed, burying my head in my hands and closing my eyes.

“Okay, I know you didn’t want to talk in front of my mom, but it’s just me. Are you _really_ okay?”

“I don’t handle stress very well, Mikey,” I explain. “I really want to cut. And I know I shouldn’t, so I’m trying not to, but it’s hard without him here. Whenever I wanted to in the summer, I’d come over and cuddle with him and feel better afterward. It’s just hard. I gotta get used to it, though. He won’t always be there to pick up the pieces.”

“You had a shitty day. S’okay to need him. He should be home soon. I know homework sounds like the worst thing to do right now, but maybe you should try it? It’ll distract you from how crappy you feel until Gee’s home.”

“I just want to lay here and fall asleep and never wake up.”

“Frank…”

“I’m fine,” I mutter. “It’s just a bad day. Don’t worry about me.”

…

“Mom told me you had a bad day. Why didn’t you call me, Frankie? I wouldn’t have stayed at school this long if I’d known.”

A pair of arms slides around my waist, and I breathe a sigh of relief, relaxing into Gerard and closing my eyes. Finally. It’s been three hours since we got home, and I’ve spent every one of those 180 minutes trying not to succumb to my mind. 

“You were probably having a good time,” I mutter in explanation, turning around to face him. “I didn’t want to bother you. I thought I could handle it.”

“You don’t have to handle things on your own anymore, Frankie,” Gerard whispers, kissing the side of my head. “That’s what I’m here for. If you need me, call me. It doesn’t matter if I’m in the middle of something, I’ll always be here for you. I love you.”

“Love you too,” I mumble. “How was your day? Hopefully better than mine.”

Even though I’ve had a really crappy day, seeing Gerard’s eyes light up at that warms my heart. It’s a pleasant reprieve from the numbness I’ve been feeling all day. 

“It was so amazing, Frankie,” Gerard says, tightening his arms around my waist. “Everyone loved my work, and I talked to this one professor about my anxiety and he said that my art is so beautiful and it speaks the words I don’t. He said I was one of the best artists he’s ever seen, and he was surprised when I said I was only eighteen, and god, I just…the atmosphere was so amazing. There were no people to give me shit, and the classes I had today just mainly involved practicing different types of drawing and experimenting. I loved it so much. I have so many ideas now.”

I should be happy for him, and I am, hearing how much of a good time he had and about how good he’s feeling, but I can’t help but feel even worse inside. I hate that I’m ruining his good day. He probably felt so awesome throughout, so reassured after the anxiety he felt this morning, and here I am, ruining it, like I ruin everything else. My problems are miniscule and not foreign to anyone. He’s been through it, and he got through his junior year on top of dealing with the trauma from his abusive father. I’ve had a good summer, my life is great right now, and I’m still feeling like I want to kill myself. It’s so selfish.

“Frankie, breathe,” Gerard murmurs, kissing my cheek. “You’re tensing up; your breathing’s starting to get all fucked up. What’s bothering you? Talk to me.”

I chuckle humorlessly, recalling how I was saying those exact words to him this morning. Somehow, he was the one that had a good day, and my day was horrible. 

“I just missed you,” I lie, burying my head in the crook of his neck. “I didn’t know it’d be so hard without you. But it’s okay now, because you’re here and nothing else matters. I’m okay.”

God Frank, you are such a fucking _liar_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - anxiety, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, mentions of a suicide attempt, and depression.

Mikey POV

“How is he?”

I sit on the edge of Gerard’s bed, looking over at Frank. He’s sleeping soundly against Gerard, his head buried in my brother’s chest and his arms wrapped around Gerard’s waist. I’ve been pretty worried about him. Summer was really good for his mental health, but now he’s left to the horror that is school and the hell that is junior year, and neither of those things will leave him feeling okay mentally. 

“He just fell asleep, but he said he was okay, just missing me.” Gerard continues to trail his hand through Frank’s hair, and then leans down to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek.

I exhale, shaking my head. Dammit, Frank. “He wanted to die.”

Gerard’s hand stills in Frank’s hair and his head snaps up, eyes meeting mine almost immediately. “What?”

“He said he wanted to die,” I repeat. “I don’t know if that was him being done with all the work we already have, or him actually being suicidal, but given his past, I don’t think we should just dismiss it.”

Gerard nods. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“He really needs you, Gee,” I continue. “You didn’t have anyone your junior year, and you tried to kill yourself…three times. Don’t let Frank go through the same thing.”

“I won’t. I know how it feels to be at that point, and I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, let alone my boyfriend.”

“Dad deserves it, though,” I mutter. “He fucking deserves worse.”

Gerard narrows his eyes and looks from Frank to me for a few moments, before responding. “Dad deserves to be burned alive. But that doesn’t change what he did to me. That doesn’t make it all better.”

“He hurt you,” I whisper, my voice cracking. Talking about this still has me so emotional. “I still just…he’s our _father_ …how could he do something like this?”

“He never wanted us, Mikey,” Gerard says grimly. “I was an accident, and you were the result of a broken condom. He never wanted us.”

…

Frank POV

It doesn’t get any easier.

The rest of the week follows the precedent the first day set. Each day is so much worse than the last.

To add insult to injury, my history teacher has already assigned us an five to ten minute presentation, just to see how well we know the stuff we learned in previous classes. It’s an individual project, and if the presentation is any less than five minutes, we automatically fail. We picked the topics randomly, so it’s not even like I got to choose something interesting. 

That class already makes me feel like I can’t breathe. I’m by myself in it – there is no one I know or like to make the experience better. It’s a class full of popular kids who don’t give a shit about anything other than their elitist friendships. They’re all going to be looking at me and judging me and making me feel like a complete outcast. Although that doesn’t bother me, the idea of getting up in front of all those people and speaking, knowing they’re going to spend the next few days talking about how much of a fuck up I am – it makes my heart race and nausea swirl in the pit of my stomach.

I have diagnosed anxiety, and my teacher still won’t let me get out of the presentation. I’ve even got notes from a therapist, but no dice. The guy is fucking insistent on everyone being treated the same and having to do the same thing. When I talked to him about my anxiety, I got the ‘if I have to make an exception for you, I have to make an exception for everyone’ lecture. I don’t fucking think everyone else has as severe of an anxiety disorder as I do, but alright.

It’s the second week of school, and I really fucking wish that suicide attempt had worked. I wish that this had all ended before I had a conscience. If everything had just ended back then, I wouldn’t be sitting here now, contemplating ending my life, with my conscience at the back of my mind, reminding me of all I’m going to leave behind. It would’ve been so much easier to end it then, when I didn’t have friends or a boyfriend or people that would actually miss me.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” Talking to myself isn’t as crazy as some of the things that have been going through my head these past few days. There’s no one around to talk to me, so why not? 

I let my head fall back against the tiled wall of the bathroom, bringing my knees up to my chest. We have free reign during study hall, and of course, I’m spending it in the bathroom, contemplating cutting because I hate myself that much.

“Frank, you in here?”

“Holy shit.”

Mikey’s staring, wide-eyed, at the blade in my hand. He has a phone pressed to his ear, and I’m pretty sure I have a good idea of who’s on the other line. Fuck. This is just getting worse by the second.

“Yeah Gee, I found him…”

“Don’t tell him,” I whisper, trying not to speak loud enough that Gerard will be able to hear me. “Please, Mikey. I’m begging you.”

Confusion flickers in Mikey’s gaze, as I drop the blade onto the ground and bring my hands together in a silent form of prayer. I mouth more prayers inaudibly, hoping he makes something up rather than telling my boyfriend I was just about to hurt myself.

“He’s just crying, he didn’t do anything,” Mikey says into the phone. I shoot him a grateful smile, but he doesn’t return it. Something tells me I’m going to having a long conversation with him about all of this later on. I owe him, though. For not telling Gerard. If the roles were reversed, I don’t know whether I would’ve done what he did.

“Do you wanna talk to him? Yeah, I’ll tell him. Alright.” He brings the phone away from his ear and hands it to me. I reach for it, and as I do, he reaches over and grabs the blade off the floor, slipping it into his pocket. Good going. I’ll be less likely to cut myself if I don’t have anything to do it with.

“Baby, are you okay?” Gerard asks. His tone is frantic, and he sounds out of breath. I hate that I’ve worried him like this. I hate having people worry about me in general, but especially when it comes to my boyfriend, because he tends to worry too much. 

“I’m okay,” I reply. My voice shakes a bit, and the sound is hoarse, so I know he won’t believe me, but it’s worth a shot. 

“You were crying,” Gerard says. “And you sound like shit. What’s going on, Frankie? I’m worried about you.”

“I just panicked a little,” I mutter, trying to downplay it. “It wasn’t a big deal. Just my anxiety being a bitch. You don’t have to worry about me, I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay.”

“I promise you I am.”

“You’re _not_ ,” Gerard says firmly. “I can tell by your voice. Not only that, but you don’t _seem_ okay. I know you. I know when you’re lying to me.”

“Gee, seriously, just leave it. I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. And don’t get Mikey to come check up on me in the middle of the fuckin’ school day. I can survive without you, y’know.”

Even though I can’t see him, I can tell Gerard just rolled his eyes. “Clearly, you can’t. Not when he just found you crying in the bathroom. Why won’t you just let me help you, Frank?”

“You’re in college,” I mumble. “Why would you want some lame ass high school boyfriend with too many problems?”

“Frank…”

“Whatever,” I say. “I can’t do this right now. I don’t want to cry again. I’ll see you at home.”

“We’re gonna talk about this when I get back,” Gerard warns. “I hope you know that. I’m not going to let you feel like shit by yourself.”

…

“I’m not in the mood for you to tell me why your brother is an angel sent from above and why I should let him help me. So if that’s what you’re about to say, don’t bother.”

Mikey shrugs. “I wasn’t gonna say that. I was gonna say, if you would’ve let me, that Gerard can sometimes get a little too overprotective. It’s because he didn’t have someone like that to watch over him, and he doesn’t want you to feel the same way. It can get a little annoying at times, but he’s not doing it to bug you.”

I sigh. “I know…I just don’t want him falling over himself to help me. I don’t think I’m worth that. I don’t deserve it. I just wanna wallow in my own self-pity.”

“You were about to cut yourself.”

“I was,” I agree. “I won’t deny that. But I have a conscience now. When I tried to kill myself at the beginning of freshman year, I didn’t have anyone who I thought would miss me, besides my parents. Now, I have you, Gerard, Ray, and Bob, and all of you would miss me if I died. It’s a lot harder for me to cut or try to kill myself when there’s a voice in my head reminding me that you guys would be really hurt if I actually did it.”

“I know where you’re coming from. We just want you to be okay. Gerard really loves you, Frank. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as happy as he is with you. If you killed yourself, you’d destroy him. He’s fallen too hard for you, for you to leave him like that.”

“I can’t promise anything,” I mutter. I’ve learned the hard way that promises just end up being broken in the end. I don’t want to promise Mikey anything, and then have him angry at me if I ever break it. “But I’ll try to stay alive. I don’t know how successful I’ll be. But I’ll try my best.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but necessary. The next chapter will be longer. Trigger warnings for self-harm, depression, suicide, and eating disorders.

Gerard POV

One look out my window tells me that my boyfriend is making his way up our front walk, his head bent and his hands shoved into his pockets. His huge bookbag looks to be crushing him, like he’s about to collapse under that weight. It looks like a physical representation of what he must be feeling inside – crushed by the weight of life. 

I put down my pencil and close my sketchbook, then begin to make my way upstairs to greet him at the front door. I get there before he has a chance to ring the bell, and throw the door open. I’ve told him multiple times that he can just walk in; he’s definitely considered family by this point, but he refuses. I don’t know why he’s so insistent on distancing himself and making himself seem like a guest when he’s family to all of us. My mom loves him like a son, and Mikey considers him a brother.

I pull him in for a hug, and tilt my head to kiss him. He melts into my arms and transfers most of his weight to me. When he lifts his head, I see tears in his eyes, and it makes my chest ache. 

It physically hurts me when he’s in pain. I can’t stand to see him that way. I would take it for him in a second, but it’s not that easy. He’s in just as bad of a place as I was when I was 16, and it fucking sucks. It especially sucks because I know how bad he’s feeling, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t know how to help him. My ways of coping when I was in my junior year were less than stellar.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Frank asks. “Don’t you have to leave right after Mikey and me?”

“I’m not going to school today, babe. And neither are you.”

“What? Gee, I-”

“Nope.” I shush him with a kiss, pulling him in closer. “You and I need to talk about what happened yesterday.”

Frank shrugs, shaking his head. “It’s fine, Gee. I just got a little upset. Don’t worry about it. It’s not worth you missing a day of school for. And I have three tests today.”

“You can make them up on a day you don’t feel like putting a bullet through your brain.”

“That day exists?”

“Frank.”

“A talk with you isn’t going to make my suicidal thoughts go away.”

“I know that,” I mutter. “Of course I know that. But I want to understand. I want to help. I don’t want you to feel like this, Frankie. I know how badly it sucks, and I hate that you feel so shitty.”

“I’m not your charity case to take care of, Gerard,” Frank grumbles. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk about how you don’t want me to feel like this because you know it’s shit. I’ve fuckin’ felt like this for years. It’s nothing new. Don’t patronize me. You’re not the only one who’s gone through shit.”

I shake my head. “Frank…I don’t want to fight with you. And I know what you’re saying. That’s not how I mean it. I mean, I’ve already gone through a shitty junior year – I tried to kill myself twice, and spent the entire year cutting so much I’m surprised I didn’t end up dying from blood loss. It would fuckin’ kill me if that happened to you. I just want to help you.”

“I don’t want help.”

“You don’t get that choice.”

…

Frank POV

I’m a shitty person for snapping at Gerard. I didn’t want to fight with him, but I’m so fucking tired of him acting like he’s gone through literally everything, and I haven’t been hurt nearly enough to know how it feels to be that fucked up. He still doesn’t know a lot about what happened in that mental hospital.

He doesn’t know about the times I had to be placed in isolation because I wouldn’t eat, the times when I tried to eat, and it just ended up coming back up. He doesn’t know about the times I fucking hated myself, because I was trying so hard to recover, but my mind and body wouldn’t let me. He doesn’t know how I snuck blades into my room and cut up my stomach because no one would know to look there. He doesn’t know anything.

“I love you,” Gerard whispers, curling an arm around my shoulders and bringing me close to him. “And I know you’re kinda pissed at me right now, and you have a right to be. I was a jerk. But I really love you, and I want to help you. I want you to be okay. I want us to be able to make it past all this.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply, kissing his cheek. “I was the ass, not you. I just…I don’t know what to do anymore, Gee. Everything’s just happening so fast, and I can’t take it. I don’t know what to do. I want time to stop, but it can’t.”

“You wish summer could’ve lasted forever, huh?”

“That was the first time, in a really long time, I was genuinely happy,” I say. “I don’t remember the last time I was that happy. And it was scary at first, but it didn’t go away. Happiness, for me, has always been so fucking temporary, but the feeling didn’t go away, not until school started. And now I guess this is withdrawal from the happiness drug.”

“You’ll feel it again, Frankie, I promise,” Gerard promises. “I’ll make sure you feel it again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I mutter, pulling away from him. “Don’t set yourself up to feel guilty when you have to break that promise.”

“Frank…”

“No, honestly. How do you know you’ll be able to do what you’re promising?”

“I don’t know that. But what I do know, is that I’ll die before I stop trying.”

…

“You don’t need to do your homework. Why don’t you take a nap?”

“Because I missed three tests today, and I have a shitton of work due tomorrow. I can’t exactly just not do it and expect to fuckin’ get into college. M’not good at art like you are.”

“You’ll find something you’re good at, babe,” Gerard replies. “Your mental health comes before your schoolwork. If you don’t feel up to it, don’t do it. Make sure you’ll fuckin’ be here tomorrow, before you make sure your homework will be.”

“I can’t fail.”

“You won’t fail.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you. You’re so smart, Frankie. You don’t have to antagonize over this shit.”

“You can always copy mine,” Mikey calls, from the other side of the room. “I did the homework for all the classes we have together, you can borrow it if you want to.”

“That’s not fair to you.”

“I’m not the one who wants to kill himself.”

“Still doesn’t feel right.”

“I’m offering you help. Take it. Don’t analyze it. It’s okay to care for yourself. It’s okay to worry about yourself. It’s okay to take a step back and breathe and realize that you don’t have to handle everything on your own.”

“Come here,” Gerard coaxes. I sigh, crawling over and lying down, my head in his lap and my legs splayed out to the side. 

“Can you still draw with me like this?”

Gerard nods, leaning down to kiss me. “Don’t worry about that. Just get some rest, baby. I love you.”

“Love you more.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's bee over three months, and god, I'm sorry. The thing is, with this story, this series, I don't want to put out mediocre writing. I love these stories so much, and I don't want to give them anything less than my best. I felt like last chapter was seriously lacking, so I needed a break. I haven't been feeling up to writing this for a while, but I was watching Life on the Murder Scene earlier today, and I finally got some inspiration back.
> 
> Trigger warning - self-harm, depression, anxiety, and panic attacks.

“Seriously, Frank. Stop lying to me. I know you well enough to know exactly when you’re not telling the truth. Why won’t you just let me help you?”

I let my gaze waver, moving away from my boyfriend and to the surroundings of his room. Gerard’s bedroom is exactly what you’d imagine it to be – dark and messy. Art supplies are scattered everywhere, all the windows are draped over with black sheets – there’s only a slight sliver of natural light coming into the room altogether.

The floor – that’s another story. Remnants of some of Gerard’s worst panic attacks still lay astray; empty pill bottles, scattered pills, a couple pairs of scissors, all from breakdowns after nightmares. It’s hard to look at and the ache that fills my chest when I do is even more painful, but this room is home. It’s the place I’ve learned to feel most comfortable, and my safe haven.

“Frankie? You okay?”

“I don’t want to tell you,” I confess, my voice breaking. “I try so fucking hard to be the boyfriend you deserve and make you happy and my fucking problems get in the way and it _sucks_. It sucks that I can’t make myself better for you but I’m trying to shove it all in so I can at least do one thing right and you won’t let me.”

“Frank…”

“No!” I continue, shaking my head. “I’m not an idiot, Gerard! I need to learn how to take care of myself because eventually you’ll get tired of your stupid high school boyfriend that isn’t even legal yet! Soon you’ll get bored and I’ll be left alone like I always am so why don’t you stop fucking meddling and let me do things the way I know how?”

“Frankie…” Gerard reaches forward and puts both his hands on my shoulders. “Listen to me. I will never get tired of you. I will never get bored of you. I _love_ you, Frank.”

…

Gerard POV 

The thing I love most about college is the freedom.

I only have two classes today, and I already went to one of them. I have a three hour break between them, and I get to spend in hanging out in the park, sitting under a tree and drawing. There’s no one to tell me what I can and can’t do, there’s no structured schedule for me to follow, nothing. I’m in control of what I do, for once in my life.

Being alone has given me a lot of time to think. I’ve been working on an assignment and thinking about what I’m gonna do, how I’m gonna help Frank. He needs it. That much is obvious. I know he thinks I’m pitying him, but really, all I want to do is help him through a year that was so fucking shitty for me. I don’t want him to go through something similar to what I went through. He’s already been through enough. He doesn’t need any more crap added to his pile. 

He thinks that I’m going to leave him and that breaks my heart. I’d never dream of it. I know what it’s like to feel isolated and lonely, to feel like you’re not worth enough for people to stay. I know what it’s like to feel so fucking useless because people keep leaving and you have no idea why but you can’t do anything about it. 

I love him too much to ever leave him. I don’t know why he doesn’t see it that way, but I love him more than I could ever say. He doesn’t believe me, doesn’t think he’s worth love, and it’s so sad. It breaks my heart. I just want him to open up, to let me in, to let me love him the way he deserves to be loved, but that’s not what’s happening.

He’s broken. And if I didn’t know it by how closed off he’s being, his frequent panic attacks and breakdowns throughout the summer speak volumes. Our summer wasn’t full-out bliss. Neither of us expected that. Mental illness is a real fucking bitch when it comes to you wanting to enjoy something. We’d go to the beach, and Frank’s insecurities would take over. He’s still in recovery from an eating disorder, and for him, taking his shirt off and lying under the sun was like being asked to give a report in front of 200 people. Terrifying.

I’ve got to hand it to him, though. We spent so many nights together, which I was hesitant about, considering the extent of my nightmares. I thought it’d be too much for him. It wasn’t. Frank handled it like a pro. He’s become almost as good as Mikey at taking care of me. The only frustrating thing about that is how he’s so good at taking care of me, but he won’t let me take care of him. He won’t tell me how he’s really feeling. He won’t open up when something hurts him. He’ll go quiet and repress everything until he explodes.

I’m not an idiot. I know he almost relapsed in the bathroom that day. When Mikey found him, all was quiet for a good minute or two. It took Mikey that long to recover from his shock and give Frank the phone. He wouldn’t have reacted that way if Frank were just crying. Not only that, but I know Frank better than he thinks I do. I know what sets him off. There have been too many shitty things happening to him recently, and his default is a blade. I’m not an idiot. He’s not all that stealthy about hiding this shit. He probably would be, if I wasn’t a recovering self-harmer myself. I know the signs. I know what tactics he’s using to hide it because I used to use them myself.

He’s been hurt so many times and he has a right to be guarded, but I just wish he would open up to me. I want to help him, he just won’t let me.

…

Frank POV

I can’t breathe. 

That history presentation was today, and I fucked it up so badly. 

I knew my topic and I knew what I had to say, but anxiety is such a fucking bitch. The moment I got up there, the moment everyone’s eyes travelled to me, everything just fell apart. I was shaking and stuttering the entire time, and I felt dizzy and faint. My heart was pounding so fast I felt like it’d fall out of my chest, and god, the hot flashes were horrible. 

I have history right before lunch, so now I have an excuse to hide in the bathroom and have my panic attack alone where no one can make fun of me. 

Having anxiety is the worst. It’s not something I can control, and it’s not something I can learn to ignore, or shove down when it’s not convenient for me. It’s there, all the time, rearing its ugly head at the worst possible times and fucking up my life along the way. It’s so fucking hard to deal with, and trying to explain it to someone who’s never had to deal with anxiety is the most frustrating thing ever.

I thought I’d be okay. I didn’t think the panic attack would be this bad, but I can’t calm my breathing down and I feel like I’m going to die. My heart’s gonna fucking explode and I feel like I’m going to drop dead.

I fumble around in my pocket for my phone, grabbing it with shaking hands. It takes me longer than usual to find Gerard’s number because I’m trembling so hard and my hands are shaking so much they’re almost vibrating. When I finally do find his number, I call my boyfriend, touching one last button to put the phone on speaker and setting it on the ground beside me.

“Frank?”

“I need you,” I choke out, bringing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. “I had a presentation and now I’m having a panic attack and I feel like I’m gonna die.”

“I’m on my way,” Gerard replies. “But you need to listen to me, okay? Take some deep breaths. Focus on that. Nothing but that. Just slow, deep breaths. In, and out. In, an out. Breathe, Frankie, please.”

“I feel like my heart’s gonna fuckin’ explode, I-I don’t, fuck…”

“Come on, baby,” Gerard murmurs. “Listen to me. Breathe with me. I’m getting in my car right now. I’ll be there in ten minutes. I’ll bring you home and we’ll cuddle and watch movies together, and today’s Friday, so we have two days to ourselves. Just think about that.”

My breathing is slowly starting to return to normal, finally. I feel like I can breathe somewhat normally, although it’s not one hundred percent. It always takes me a while to fully calm down after a panic attack. They’re exhausting. When I was in the mental hospital, one thing my doctor told me is that the exhaustion you feel after a panic attack is the same exhaustion people feel after running a marathon. Panic attacks are no fucking joke.

“You feel any better, babe?”

“Y-Yeah,” I mumble, closing my eyes. “I can breathe again.”

“That’s good,” Gerard replies. “If you’re able to, can you come wait in the office for me? The bitches at the front desk aren’t gonna let me come find you.”

“I can do that,” I say, grabbing my phone and shouldering my backpack. I rise to my feet clumsily, still taking into account how tired I really am. “Gonna grab something from my locker and meet you in the office.”

“I’ll text Mikey and let him know I’m bringing you home so he doesn’t worry,” Gerard tells me. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you too,” I reply, pushing the ‘end call’ button. I’m fucking exhausted and I feel like death, but I’m about to see Gerard and spend an entire two and a half days with him, so I’m okay. For now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for depression, self-harm, anxiety, and eating disorders.
> 
> Additionally, I've had so many people tell me they loved Outcasts because it was so relatable, and that's because it was a lot of my thoughts. I've dealt with depression, self-harm, anxiety, panic attacks, and suicidal thoughts before. However, the next thing happening in this story starts in this chapter and it deals with eating disorders, something I haven't struggled with before, so if anything is inaccurate, I'm sorry. I have friends who struggled with eating disorders and I've done my research, so I hope that's okay.
> 
> Enjoy.

“It’s been a while since we’ve all hung out.”

“Yeah? Well, senior year’s a bitch,” Bob mutters, tipping back his beer. “I’m fuckin’ drowning.”

“You can say that again,” I agree, resting my head on Gerard’s shoulder. “Junior year’s worse.”

“Well we know Gee’s living it up at art school.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Don’t you think I deserve it by now, Bob? I’m finally doing something I actually want to do, not stupid bullshit the state forces on me. You’re a year away from that.”

“Not when I don’t know what the hell I wanna do.”

“You’ll figure it out,” I offer. “Or you could do what Ray’s doing and go to community college.”

“Trust me, it’s so much better than being thrown off the deep end into a regular university,” Ray says. “I have time for my schoolwork and time to practice the guitar, so it’s a win-win.”

“You’ll never not have time to play guitar.”

“Hey, I value my schoolwork!” Ray insists. “I make sure it’s all done before I practice.”

“Really?” Gerard snorts. “Then explain that time you called me at 1 in the morning begging me to help you with your history project you’d known about for a week but chose not to start until the morning it was due.”

“That was different!”

“How?”

“It just was!”

Gerard shrugs, reaching for another potato chip. “Doesn’t sound much different to me.”

“Hey, careful Gee. The more of those you eat, the fatter you become.”

I feel Gerard tense against me, the hand holding the chip frozen halfway toward his mouth. 

“Why are you being a dick?” I grumble, glaring at Bob. “He’s fine. He can eat whatever the hell he wants.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not like he ever leaves the house to go workout or anything. It wouldn’t kill him to eat healthier.”

“Like you’re some kind of health nut,” Mikey retorts. “You’ve been eating just as many chips as he has. Stop being a dick. Being stressed doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole.”

…

Gerard POV

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that shitty comment Bob made. 

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror with my shirt off is only cementing what he said in my mind. I don’t know why Frank and Mikey were upset that he said it; it’s true. He wasn’t wrong. The truth is so much better than a lie. I’m glad he told me. Now I can actually do something about it.

My only regret is how blind I’ve been. I’ve looked like this for so long, the flab in my arms and chubby stomach and thighs, all of it is gross. I hate working out and I always thought I’d be fine without having to do it, but it looks like my metabolism has finally caught up with me. I distinctly remember telling myself I’d always be thin – I’d never let my metabolism turn me into some fatass pig. And look what it’s managed to do.

“Gee? Fuck, don’t do this.”

“Frank, get out, I’m trying to take a shower.” I grab my shirt and hold it over my chest, glaring at him. “What are you still doing here? I said get out!”

“You’re not trying to take a shower,” Frank replies, taking a seat on the closed toilet. “You’re looking yourself over from all angles, seeing all that “fat” you think you haven’t seen before. You’re wondering how you let yourself get this bad. You’re thinking that major changes need to happen. You’re not sure you need any food anyway, because clearly, you’ve had too much of it.”

“Frank, I, how-”

“Does recovering anorexic ring a bell?” Frank asks. “I’ve felt the same way. And it goes down a slippery slope from here, Gee. You don’t think you’re going to go that far but trust me, this mentality is so dangerous and so scary and I don’t want you to put yourself through that. You’re not fat. You’re _fine_.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t think so either,” Frank says bitterly. “And I ended up destroying myself because of it. Please, Gee. Don’t do this to yourself. Come downstairs with me and we’ll cuddle and by tomorrow you’ll forget any of this every happened.”

“Frank?”

“Yeah?”

“How long were you starving yourself?”

“I started right after my thirteenth birthday,” He says simply. “And it took people over two years to realize that I was actually suffering.”

…

Frank POV

“Boys, dinner’s ready!”

“You assumed all of us were staying?” I ask, grabbing a plate from one of the cabinets. “Thanks, Ms. Way.” 

She rolls her eyes. “You guys are over so much it’s like I have five sons instead of two.”

Gerard leans in and kisses his mother’s cheek. “Thanks, ma.”

“Go and eat,” she says, swatting at him with the dishtowel she has hanging from her shoulder. “I made your favorite.”

Gerard slides into the seat next to mine and glances over his plate, thinking. I sigh. I know he’s still worried about what Bob said earlier, and it sucks. It sucks that he’s started thinking so lowly of himself after a comment that wasn’t even true. Bob’s a dick for saying it. 

“Eat, baby,” I say, bringing a forkful of pasta to my mouth. “It’s really good.”

“M’not that hungry,” Gerard mumbles. 

“You sure?” Ms. Way asks, turning around to face him. “Are you coming down with something?” She reaches out to feel his forehead, and he shakes his head.

“No, ma. Just tired. I guess I ate too much this afternoon. I feel kinda full.”

“Why don’t you go lie down then?” She suggests. “Take an early night.”

Gerard nods, leans in and kisses my cheek, before making his way toward the basement. Once he’s gone and Ms. Way turns back to the stove, I turn to Bob. “What the fuck is wrong with you? This is all your fault!”

“I didn’t think he’d decide not to eat!”

“Do you not know how serious eating disorders can get?” I growl. “In case you’ve forgot, that’s why I ended up in the damn mental hospital.”

“I thought you tried to kill yourself.”

“I did,” I mutter. “But I was also dangerously underweight when they found me and they diagnosed me with anorexia that same day. I went in for anorexia, depression, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts.”

“I don’t think he’s going to become anorexic from one shitty comment,” Ray interjects, trying to diffuse the sentence. “Still, Bob, that was a really fucked up thing to say.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I have no filter,” Bob replies. “I put my foot in my mouth.”

“And you probably damaged my boyfriend even more because of it.”

…

“I love you so much,” I say, pulling Gerard in for a kiss. “You’re beautiful, your _body_ is beautiful, and it doesn’t matter what Bob or anyone has to say about it. You make me so happy and I love you more and more every day.”

Gerard kisses back feverishly, winding his arms tightly around my waist. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. He pointed it out and now I’m so aware of it and I can’t stop thinking about it. I wish he’d never said anything.”

“So do I,” I reply. “Because it’s not true. Not one word. You’re fine. You’re so far from fat, Gee. And even if you were fat, which you’re not, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. There’d just be more of you to love. Society has such a fucked up view of these things, it’s what really damaged me and my self-esteem. Please don’t let that happen to you.”

“I won’t,” Gerard says, pecking my lips. “Thank you, for this, for being here, for everything. I know shit hasn’t been easy for you recently. I actually meant to ask, before my shitty feelings got in the way, how are you feeling?” 

“Eh,” I mutter. “It’s whatever. Another panic attack, another day of hating myself, it’s nothing new.”

“I love you.” Gerard squeezes my hand and entwines our fingers. “And I want you to come to me, okay? I let you help me, now you need to let me help you. If you feel like shit, you call me. I’m so glad you did, yesterday. I’m so glad I was there for you when you needed me; I never would’ve wanted you to go through something like that alone.”

“I didn’t want to cut,” I say softly. “I mean, I knew I could. I thought about it. I contemplated doing it. But then I stopped and thought about how it would make you feel, finding out, and I just didn’t want to put our relationship through that. We have something good. I didn’t wanna ruin it by being weak.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Gerard murmurs. “You wouldn’t have ruined our relationship even if you had cut. I know how it feels. I know what it’s like to be in your place. I might’ve made the same decision. I’m glad you called me, but don’t think that if you relapse you’re going to lose me. I’m in this. I’m not going anywhere.”

We turn our heads for another kiss, and I scoot into his arms, resting my head on his chest and closing my eyes, feeling him rest his head on top of mine. 

Life fucking sucks, don’t get me wrong, but it’s moments like these that get me through the worst.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever. You guys don't deserve excuses, so I'm not gonna make any. It's like I said before, I don't want to put out anything less than my best for this story. I do have some things I want to talk about regarding this story though, so make sure to read the note at the end. Enjoy.
> 
> Trigger warnings - depression, self-harm, eating disorders, anxiety, and mentions of suicide.

Gerard POV

College is a blessing and a curse.

It’s a blessing because of the freedom, the ability to do things without needing someone’s permission, the overall sense of really being an adult. But freedom can be a bad thing. That’s where the curse comes in. For people like me, being left on my own for too long gives me the chance to start thinking and that much too often leads to overthinking. I’m not the best when it comes to being left alone with my thoughts.

The conversation I had with Frank a few nights ago keeps replaying in my head. I know where he’s coming from. I get why he’s worried. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m a fucking fatass. I knew it, even before Bob pointed it out. My weight has been something I’ve struggled with for a long time.

I’ve always been pudgy. Mikey got the tall, skinny genes, and I got the short, chubby ones. It’s always been an issue. I’ve always looked in the mirror and never been completely satisfied with what I saw. I never took to drastic measures to change things, though. I’d see the pudge, notice my thick thighs and bulging stomach, but never do anything about it. I’d hate myself but do nothing to change it.

Frank warned me about eating disorders but I don’t think I’m even close to that point. All I need to do is go on a strict diet and exercise a little bit for the next couple weeks. It’s not like it’s going to be a permanent thing. He’s worried for no reason. 

Then again, I know what that’s like too. I’m so fucking worried about Frank, and he thinks that I’m worried for no reason. He may think I’m just overprotective, but I can tell that there’s something wrong with him. He’s not himself. He’s acting weird and closing himself off and not talking to me and it’s so fucking scary. 

Depression is a silent killer. Someone may look fine on the outside, but wrecked on the inside. He’s tried to kill himself once. I don’t want to turn a blind eye to the situation and have him try again. I won’t let that happen to him.

He’s falling apart and I need to be there to pick up the pieces along the way, otherwise he’ll fall to rock bottom and I don’t know if I’ll be able to help him come back from that. That’s the place I was in my junior year. It was absolute hell. I didn’t think I’d make it out alive. 

Something tells me that Frank won’t make it out alive of his junior year if he keeps going on like this.

…

Frank POV

Bob’s starting to make me really uncomfortable.

He’s making all these crude jokes, not toward any of us after the debacle with Gerard, but toward practically everyone else. He’s obnoxious and borderline rude and some of the things he’s been saying have me wishing we weren’t friends with him anymore.

It’s frustrating. Part of me wishes we weren’t friends with him because of what he said to Gerard, but the rest of me knows that he was friends with Gerard, Mikey, and Ray first, and they probably know him a lot better than I do. Someone who’s been friends with them for a year coming in and deciding he wants to stop being friends with one of them won’t go over well. I don’t want to cause any problems.

I shift a bit against the couch, lifting my head off Gerard’s shoulder. From the looks of it, I’m not the only one bothered by this. Mikey is squirming in his seat, pointedly avoiding Bob’s eyes. 

“I’m gonna take a shit.” Bob rises to his feet and heads for the stairs. His footsteps thunder as he exits the basement, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief, turning my face into Gerard’s shoulder so it isn’t obvious.

“You’re really not comfortable with all of this, are you?” Gerard nudges me away slightly, shooting me a small smile. “I can feel how tense you are, Frankie.”

“It’s not just him,” Mikey says quickly. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Bob, but…ever since he said that thing to you he’s been different.”

“He has,” Ray agrees. “I noticed it too. Just couldn’t tell if it was me being paranoid or him being a dick. Dunno what’s gotten into him.”

“He’s being a dick,” Gerard repeats. “What do you guys wanna do about it?”

I hate confrontation. It’s my worst nightmare. The idea has my heart starting to speed up. I don’t like standing up to people. Maybe that makes me weak, but I don’t care. My anxiety is to blame for that. I don’t like confrontation and I don’t like tense situations like this. The drama is a lot.

“I don’t think we should cut him off just yet,” Ray replies. “Maybe give him a bit to see if it’s just a shitty time for him? Someone should definitely talk to him about it though.”

We all give him looks, and he sighs. “And that someone’s gonna be me, isn’t it?”

“You guys are the closest,” Gerard points out. “And Frank and Mikey look like you just told them to give a ten minute presentation.”

“Fine,” Ray mutters. “But you guys owe me.”

“It’s just…I don’t know whether it’s stress or something, but he’s being an ass,” I say. “Maybe I’m just too sensitive, but it’s really bothering me.”

“You’re not too sensitive,” Gerard assures me. “I’ve never seen him act like this, and we’ve been friends for years. Maybe we’re just seeing his true colors.”

…

Gerard POV

“Hey Mike, you okay?”

Mikey jumps at my voice, but then relaxes, looking up from his laptop and forcing a smile. “Fine, Gee. Did you need something?”

“Wanted to talk to you.” I sit down on the edge of his bed, grab his laptop, and set it off to the side. He rolls his eyes and scoots up to sit straighter against his pillows. “Are you okay? You’ve seemed off the past few weeks.”

“You’ve been busy with Frank. I didn’t think you cared.” The emotion in Mikey’s voice is evident. He’s starting to get choked up. It breaks my heart. I didn’t know he felt this way. I didn’t know that I was neglecting him. Everything’s been a whirlwind lately, between school and Frank and mental illness, I haven’t been checking up on Mikey nearly as much as I used to, and it’s not right. He’s mentally ill too. He needs me just as much as Frank does.

“You know I do,” I insist. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bit absent recently. It’s just been a lot lately. I know I fucked up. I’ll do better Mikey, I promise. I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m neglecting you.”

“You’re not,” Mikey replies. “I shouldn’t rely on you as much as I do. I’m a baby. That’s all there is to it.”

“Show me your arms.” The long sleeves have become a staple for him. He probably didn’t think I’d notice, but I’m not that stupid. As someone who’s cut for years, the signs are hard to miss. 

“Gee, I-”

“I’m not kidding Mikey,” I say. “I know you. I just want to see. I won’t be mad, I promise.”

He sighs, unzipping his hoodie and slipping it off. He holds both arms out in front of me, and I have to stare. It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. It’s not dried blood and messy, jagged cuts. But the sheer amount of cuts and scars is scary. He’s not slashing at his arms like I used to when I had panic attacks, but there are so many neat lines lining both his arms. 

“Mikey…”

“I know it’s bad, okay?” Mikey pulls his arms back and crosses them over his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at coping any other way. You know that better than a lot of people. And I don’t have the coping mechanisms you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend or the fucking talent to be an artist,” Mikey mutters. “I have my fucked up head and my depression and anxiety. Forgive me if this is the result. It’s not like I have a distraction.”

“You have me,” I tell him. “You have me, and I’m gonna help you stop. There are other ways to deal with shit.”

“That’s real rich, coming from you.”

I shrug, holding my arms out in front of him. “When have you ever seen me walk around in short sleeves, Mikey? I haven’t cut in months.”

“Congratulations. You want a medal or something?”

He’s gotten a lot more bitter, that’s definitely new. I don’t blame him. He’s right. Things have been really shitty for him lately, with all the stress from school. He doesn’t have a distraction like I do. He doesn’t have a Frank. He feels alone, and that’s partly my fault. It’s not fair. I’ve been a really shitty older brother to him for a while. 

“I’m so sorry, Mikey,” I say honestly. “I know I’ve been really flaky recently. You didn’t deserve that. You needed me and I wasn’t there. That’s never going to happen again, I promise. You’re important. You deserve my time. I’m sorry I ever forgot that. But I’m gonna make it right, I promise.”

I hold out my arms and he smiles, crawling into the embrace. I’ve missed this. We used to be so close before Frank. I wanna get that back. Having a boyfriend doesn’t mean neglecting my brother. I just have to learn how to balance things better. It’s an adjustment, but it’s worth it.

He’s worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda feel like this story's getting a bit stale. We're shifting things a bit. Bob's slowly going to work his way out of the story, and I was thinking...how would you guys feel about me adding Brendon, Patrick, Pete, Andy, Joe, Tyler, Josh, etc? They'd add more life to this and I think they'd all fit in really well. I was thinking about giving Mikey a distraction in the form of Pete, if you get what I mean. ;) Thoughts on that? 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings - self-harm, anorexia, depression, and anxiety.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the response on the last chapter. It made me so happy to see so many of you still with me. I hope you'll enjoy this one just as much.

Escaping to the bathroom during lunch to have my daily panic attack and slice into my wrists has been something I almost look forward to. I never like the panic attack part, but I look forward to cutting and feeling all the pain I’ve been holding in. Most days the panic attack isn’t even really that. It’s me just taking a few minutes to slow down my heart and normalize my breathing and remind myself that I’m okay.

Today’s different.

When I push open the door to the bathroom, I’m startled to see someone else sitting against the wall, head tilted back. My entrance clearly startled him just as much, because he jumps and when his head snaps up, I can see a wild, fearful look in his eyes.

“Sorry,” I say. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s all good,” he replies. “Thought you were my boyfriend.”

That sets off an alarm in my head. Why would he be scared of his boyfriend? It’s things like this that have me on edge because of my own abusive relationship. It’s a very personal thing for me, and the idea of someone going through what I went through is disgusting. “Does…Is he abusive?” My voice cracks on the last word, betraying me. I’ve always been pissed at my inability to conceal my emotions. 

“Definitely not, the opposite really,” he says hurriedly. “Sorry. He just…he wants me to eat and I feel like a fucking fatass so I’m hiding. He thinks I’m anorexic but I think that’s bullshit.”

And then it all clicks.

Looking at him now, I understand completely. He’s stick thin, scarily almost. It looks like his skin was stretched over his bones, like he has no fat at all. As a recovering anorexic myself, I see where he’s coming from, but it also has me alarmed due to the fact that at one point I was that thin and thought I was fat. He’s definitely anorexic. 

“I know how you feel,” I say, pulling off my backpack and setting it on the ground. “I'm Frank. Frank Iero.”

“Jack Barakat,” he says. “You’re Gerard’s boyfriend, aren’t you?”

“You know Gerard?”

“Yeah!” Jack says, a smile coming onto his face. “You guys being so open about your relationship last year was what made us feel like we could do the same. You’re fuckin’ legendary, we owe you both so much.”

I freeze.

Hearing that…I can’t describe the feeling. I can’t describe how good it feels to know that my boyfriend and I have inspired another couple like this. Gerard and I didn’t think much of being open about our relationship at school. Sure, we got shit for it in the beginning, but once that died down things weren’t too bad. 

I open my mouth to say something, but the door slams open and interrupts me.

“Jack, there you are.” Another boy is standing in the doorway, looking less than pleased. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Fuck off,” Jack mumbles. He glances at me. “That’s Alex, my boyfriend. Although he’s being a real dick right now.”

“I fuckin’ love you, okay?” Alex cries. “Sue me for wanting to have you around for longer than a couple years!”

“Don’t be a drama queen,” Jack sighs. “It’s not that bad.”

“It kinda is,” I interject. Both Alex and Jack turn to look at me, and I grit my teeth, trying not to succumb to the self-consciousness that’s slowly beginning to overtake me. I hate having people’s attention on me. It makes me uncomfortable. I forget what I’m going to say and turn into a babbling mess. “I, um…I’m a recovering anorexic. I was hospitalized my freshman year for that. I almost starved to death. You may not think it’s bad, but you don’t see yourself right. Eating disorders fuck with your perception and you see yourself fatter than you really are. As much as I know how you feel and as much as I know how much it sucks…he’s right, Jack.”

Jack groans and buries his head in his knees. Alex forces a smile. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to tell him that for the past few months, but he’s so damn stubborn.”

“I can hear you!”

“Good,” Alex mutters. He holds out a hand to me. “Alex Gaskarth, somehow in love with that moron over there.”

“Frank Iero,” I say, taking his hand. As anticipated, his eyes go wide. “Jack told me. That’s really amazing. Gee and I had no idea we had such an impact.”

“You really did.” Alex steps around me and slides down next to Jack, leaning in to kiss the side of his head and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to have everyone know how much I love him.”

Jack snorts. “If you loved me you wouldn’t be trying to change me.”

“He wants you to live.” I take a seat across from them and jump in before Alex has a chance to. “Trust me on this. You’re destroying your body, Jack. He’s trying to help. Let him.”

“I love you,” Alex repeats. “I love you so much. I can’t lose you. You may not see it, but you’re literally fading into nothing in front of me and it’s fucking terrifying. I want you to eat. I need you to eat. You think I’m changing you and maybe I am, but it’s only because I love you and I want you to get better, Jack. I don’t want you to feel like this anymore. You don’t deserve to.”

…

“Frank found some friends? Must be a full moon.”

I wince at Bob’s remark as Jack and Alex follow me into Gerard and Mikey’s house. Honestly, at this point, it’s my house too. I’m over here more than my own house. Bob needs to stop. I get the whole making fun of your friends thing, but this is going a little too far. He’s past borderline rude and he doesn’t seem to care. At this rate, Jack and Alex are going to replace him and I couldn’t be happier about it. 

I think that Jack and Alex are the perfect addition to our little group. We talked a lot in the bathroom for the rest of the lunch period, and I learned that Alex is a recovering self-harmer, something Jack’s helped him stop, and now he’s trying to help Jack stop starving himself. They remind me a lot of Gerard and I. 

“Frankie!” Gerard comes up out of the basement and joins us in the foyer. It doesn’t seem like he’s even noticed the two extra people in the room. It makes me smile. His attention is all on me and that makes me really happy. He slips an arm around my waist and tilts his head to peck my lips. “How was school, baby?”

“Good,” I reply, stepping closer to him and pressing into his side. “I met some people.” I motion to Alex and Jack. “They’re really cool. I wanted them to meet you guys, I hope that’s okay.”

Gerard kisses my hair and smiles. “Nice to meet you guys. I’m Gerard.”

“We know who you are,” Alex says. “You…you and Frank have done so much for us. It’s because of you guys that we had the courage to come out at school. It’s been kinda shitty, but totally worth it.” He squeezes Jack’s hand, entwining their fingers. “Thank you.”

…

“Anorexia, huh?” Gerard says, as we sit down in the basement. He holds his arms out for me and I curl into his lap, letting him rest his head in the crook of my neck. “That sucks. It’s so shit to hate yourself that much.”

Jack shrugs. “It’s not an eating disorder. It’s a diet. A diet that Alex makes too big of a goddamn deal about. I’m just trying to lose weight.”

“Man, you’ve got no weight to lose,” Bob pipes up. “You’re skin and bones.”

“It’s perception,” I speak up, shaking my head. He’s right, but he could’ve gone about it with a bit more tact. Jack is clearly fragile and saying shit like that isn’t going to help. “You can tell him he’s not fat all you want. He thinks he is because his perception’s fucked up. It takes a lot to change that. That’s why I had to stay in the damn loony bin for so long. I refused to eat for a long time. They force fed me, but didn’t change how I saw myself. Anorexia’s so much more than a weight thing.”

“Somehow you understand everything, but you’re on Alex’s side,” Jack mutters. “Fucking hell. I’m a pig, why doesn’t anyone else see that?”

“And I deserve to hurt myself.” Alex shoots back. “Why don’t you see _that_?”

“Because the idea of you putting a blade into your skin makes me feel nauseous.”

“And the idea of you starving yourself makes me sick.”

“I like them,” Gerard whispers to me. “I know why you brought them here.”

“Hm?”

“You want someone that gets you that isn’t Mikey, at school,” Gerard murmurs. “Ray’s never had any of this shit, and Bob’s, well…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I just don’t want you to get caught up in their problems and ignore yours.”

“They give me the chance to talk about it at school,” I tell him. “Since you’re not there. I need this.”

“I know you do,” Gerard replies, kissing my cheek. “I’m proud of you, Frankie.”

“Bob’s being a dick about it,” I sigh. 

“Ray’s gonna talk to him when he takes him home today,” Gerard tells me, squeezing me tighter. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out soon.”

“I hope so.”

I turn in his arms so I can kiss him properly, and wrap an arm around his neck. Kissing him feels amazing. Being in his arms is the best feeling ever. I’ve never felt safer. Gerard just has that effect on me. I feel safe around him, calm, secure. He makes it so much easier to deal with anxiety. I don’t know what I’d do if it weren’t for him. 

“You two need to get a room.”

“And you need to shut the fuck up,” Gerard snaps, pulling away from me and glaring at Bob. “You’re on real thin fuckin’ ice right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? How'd you like the integration of Jack and Alex? I've been on a huge All Time Low kick recently, especially with Dirty Laundry and Last Young Renegade announced, so they had to be first. We'll meet Pete next chapter, and Ray will finally have that talk with Bob. There's definitely a reason he's being an ass, and it will be revealed, I promise. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings - anxiety, eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, depression, and mentions of self-harm. Also, Bob says some pretty...offensive things. Be careful.

“What the hell was that?” 

Ray’s trying his best to calm down, trying his best not to let his anger get the best of him, because the conversation he’s about to have with Bob cannot be swathed in rage or tinted with passive aggression. Bob’s pissed so he can’t be. He has to dig deep and stay calm, no matter how hard that looks right about now. 

“Gerard just kicked you out, that’s what the hell it was,” he snaps, sliding into the driver’s seat of his car and slamming the door shut behind him. “Are you trying to lose all your friends?”

“That’s bull, why would you even think that?”

“Because you’re being a complete ass, Bob,” Ray says. “To Frank and Mikey. Maybe not Gee because you’re scared of his reaction, but you made a mistake in giving his boyfriend shit. You made a mistake in giving either of them shit. No one’s happy with you right now. So please, tell me what’s going on. Where’s the Bob you’ve been for the past few years? What the hell happened to him?”

“He’s done, Ray,” Bob growls. “Finished. I’m a different person now. I like that person. Why don’t you all?”

“Because you’re being an ass,” Ray repeats. “First with that thing about Gee’s weight, then with the shitty comments toward Mikey and Frank, and even when you’re not insulting us you’re insulting _people_ , Bob. People who’ve done nothing wrong, people who don’t deserve to be treated that way. You’re rude and bitchy and I don’t understand it at all. What’s going on?”

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

“Tired of what?”

“Depression,” Bob mutters. “Anxiety. Eating disorders. Not being able to do anything fun because Gee can’t get out of bed or Mikey’s near a panic attack or there might be food there that might fuckin’ trigger Frank! It’s so fucking frustrating. I’m sick of it. Aren’t you?”

Ray hits the brake and pulls the car over to the side of the road. He pushes a button to turn on hazard lights and then turns to Bob. “You’re joking, right? You’re actually kidding me? Please tell me you’re not being serious.”

“How can you not think so?” Bob asks. “I mean, come on. Summer was boring as shit. We stayed in. Every fucking day. We stayed in. Because one of them was having a shitty day. It’d either be Gee feeling suicidal or Mikey relapsing or Frank panicking about leaving the house because god forbid he had to eat in fuckin’ public.”

“You and I, we’ve never had any mental illnesses.” Ray chooses his words carefully. If it was hard a few minutes ago, it’s impossible now. He doesn’t think he’s ever been angrier. Bob’s spouting utter bullshit and Ray is so done. “We have no idea what it’s like for them. We have no idea what hell they go through every goddamn day. If you wanted to go out and hang out with people and do things, you should’ve. None of us were keeping you chained in that damn basement.”

“I wanted to go _with_ you guys. I wanted them to get over their shit for one fucking day so that maybe we could be normal for once.”

“Get over their shit? Do you even realize how ridiculous you sound?” Ray asks wondrously. “Mental illness is a lot to deal with and it takes a fuckton of patience. You know that. They’re introverts, Bob. Maybe I am too, from spending so much time with them. But it’s so fucking nice. I don’t think you realize that part. We’re a tiny group but we’re full of love and acceptance and trust. I don’t feel like I have anything to hide. I care about them like they’re my brothers. Gee and Frank can be as coupley as they want, Mikey can say what he feels without stuttering or shaking or feeling like he has to think about everything before he says it…it’s comfort. It’s comfort and warmth and security and it’s something I treasure. If it’s something you look down upon, you don’t need to be apart of it anymore.”

…

“We walked in on drama, didn’t we?” 

“Kinda.” I shoot Jack a sheepish smile. “It’s not gonna be a problem for much longer, trust me.”

“Ray’s handling it,” Gerard adds. “Bob’s being a dick and from the looks of things, he’s out for good. I don’t want to be friends with someone who thinks making fun of people is entertaining.”

“He was kinda…I dunno, what’s the word?” Jack says. “He gave me this weird vibe, like he was annoyed when we were talking about my food thing.”

I note how he doesn’t use eating disorder to describe it. It’s a common thing. I used to do the same thing. The denial was one of the worst parts of it. Feeling like there’s nothing wrong with you when everyone around you is telling you there is is so isolating. There’s something you’re not seeing that everyone else is, something wrong about you, and it’s damaging. It took me so long to see myself the way everyone else saw me, as a literal skeleton. It was only after that that I started getting better.

“I was talking about how anxious I was in history today because my teacher was calling on random people to answer questions, at lunch, and he was so pissy,” Mikey says softly. “I felt like I was bothering him so I shut up.”

“Are you okay?” Gerard asks immediately. “He’s out. Out of this friend group, out of our lives, just out. I don’t want to be around him if he’s doing shit like this.”

“Since we’re not biased,” Alex speaks up. “From what we’ve seen, he sounds like a total ass.”

“Drop him,” Jack adds. “You don’t need that negativity.”

Gerard’s phone beeps, and he pulls it out of his pocket to read the text. “Don’t worry. He’s already been dropped.”

“What did Ray say?” I ask, stretching forward to see the text for myself. Gerard shakes his head and locks his phone.

“You don’t need to read that,” he mutters. “He’s a dick.”

“What did it say, Gee?” Mikey asks. “We can take it.”

“He’s sick of dealing with us because we’re fucked up.”

…

When I get to lunch the next day, I’m surprised to see two new guys sitting with Mikey. He’s talking animatedly, making wild gestures with his hands. The light in his eyes is evident. I don’t see it very often, but it’s so heartwarming when I do. I love seeing him happy. 

“Who are they? More friends?” Jack asks from beside me. I never realized Alex and Jack were in my chemistry class, but apparently they are. They sit in the far back, so I guess I never noticed them.

“Never seen ‘em before. Some people Mikey met.”

Jack tightens his grip on Alex’s hand as we walk over to the table. I wince, knowing the feeling. It’s the conflict of not knowing if people are homophobic or not. It’s the struggle of whether to hold your boyfriend’s hand because it brings you comfort or let go, fearing for your safety. The decision is always hard to make.

“Hey guys,” Mikey says, as we sit down. “Are you as surprised as I am?”

“Who are they?” I ask. “How do you know them?”

“We met in history,” Mikey replies, playing with his fingers. He doesn’t look nervous. He seems completely comfortable, which is throwing me off. I’ve never seen him like this somewhere that’s not the basement. He’s usually not like this unless he’s in the company of me, Gerard, Ray, and formerly Bob. This is new for me. 

“How?”

“I had a panic attack,” Mikey mutters. “I got called on to answer this question and I didn’t know the answer and my teacher was an ass about it and I panicked. Pete helped me. And Patrick’s his best friend. They’re awesome.”

“And I’m gay, so you guys can relax,” Pete says, glancing at Jack and Alex. “I heard that homophobic thing. We’re the complete opposite.”

“Are you two dating?” I ask, looking them both over. If they are dating, they don’t look it. They’re not sitting impossibly close together or holding hands. Of course, neither of those things constitute a relationship, but I know that if Gerard was here right now, I’d do whatever I could do be close to him, sort of like Jack and Alex are doing right now.

Pete and Patrick exchange a glance and burst into laughter. “Definitely not!” Patrick says. “We’re best friends. That’s it.”

“Are you okay?” Alex asks, looking over at Mikey. “You said you had a panic attack, didn’t you? Are you okay now?”

“Yeah,” Mikey replies. “I’m good, I promise. No one call Gee. You don’t need to worry him.”

“’Trick has pretty bad anxiety too,” Pete tells us. “So I’m used to it. I know what to do. We’ve been friends for so long that his anxiety has become a huge part of my life.” 

“Hey, do you wanna come over after school?” Mikey asks. “Usually we all just go hang out in my basement and talk. It’s really nice. Plus, my mom’s on a new baking kick right now and she told me this morning she was gonna try and bake a pie today.”

I wince, looking over at Jack. If he’s heard what Mikey said, it doesn’t seem to bother him too much. He’s whispering something in Alex’s ear, unperturbed by the mention of food. It may be one of those things where he’s okay talking about it, but turns into a mess when forced to eat it. 

“What kind of pie?” Pete asks. “Apple? I love apple. Blueberry’s good too. But key lime…jesus christ, key lime-”

“What he’s trying to say,” Patrick interrupts quickly, rolling his eyes. “Is that we’d love to.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, long time no see, eh? I'm really sorry guys. I haven't been inspired to write this story in so long, and I know that's a shitty excuse, but it's the truth. I didn't want to put out something mediocre and that resulted in going...I dunno, five months? Christ, that's a long time, without a chapter.
> 
> I think you'll like this one though. How would you feel about the introduction of two more people? I'm kinda obsessed with Waterparks, and Gawsten is slowly making its way up there with Frerard and Jalex on my list of ships. I wanna add Awsten and Geoff in, so tell me how you feel about it! It probably won't be for a bit, though. I know how I wanna work them in and we need to get through some more plot first. 
> 
> Trigger warnings - eating disorders, depression, and mentions of anxiety.

“Do you seriously not recognize me?”

I look up at Pete, shrugging. “Am I supposed to?”

“Don’t you remember?” He asks sadly. “Breathe, Frankie. Food isn’t an enemy.”

And then it clicks. 

I’m transported back, to a time of fear and pain, a time of regulations and force-feedings and restrictions and shower checks and five-minute bathroom breaks and hell. 

_Pete. Pete and Patrick._

How did I not realize it sooner?

“Holy fucking shit,” I mumble, the words feeling too big as they leave my lips. I stand shakily. The world is spinning. Everything is a blur. I’m dizzy with a mix of nostalgia and anxiety, staggering forward to pull Pete into the tightest, clumsiest hug I can manage.

“I knew you couldn’t forget me,” Pete murmurs into the crook of my neck. “It’s only been a year Frankie, you can’t have blocked it out that quick.”

I sigh. “I did, though. I blocked out that year of my life. It’s too much to remember. I can’t keep going back.”

Pete smiles. “I get that, trust me. Tried to do it myself. But fuck, how’ve you been? You have a boyfriend? And friends? I’m so proud of you, Frankie.”

“You too,” I choke out. “You look great, Pete. And god…I barely recognize Patrick…”

“He really looks amazing, doesn’t he?” Pete says wistfully. “He had such a fire to get better once you left. He knew if you could do it, so could he. You were kinda his inspiration, but don’t tell him I told you that or he’ll kick my ass.”

“What about you?” I ask. I slide to the floor, back against the wall, knees pulled to my chest, and pat the space next to me. “You look better. How are things?”

“I’m on a ton of Prozac,” Pete replies. “And anti-psychotics. Keep me stable, at least. It’s not perfect but it’s better. Enough to get me outta that shithole.”

“When’d you get out?”

Pete doesn’t meet my eyes. “I, um…two weeks ago.”

That’s such a punch to the stomach. He’s been in there for the past year? When I got out, he was well on the road to recovery. He had a release date set and everything. For him to be there an extra _year_ …something must’ve seriously gone wrong. I feel sick, just thinking about it. While I was off being happy with Gerard, he was in absolute hell. It’s not fair.

I scoot closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into my side. “You don’t havta tell me if you’re not ready. But I’m here. I’m so glad you guys found Mikey. I’m so glad…” My voice catches in my throat and I swallow against the lump. “I’m so glad I found you again.”

Pete lets his head fall to my shoulder, breath warm against my skin. “Me too, Frankie. Me too.”

…

“So Bob’s out for good?”

Gerard nods grimly. “Fuck yeah. Not lettin’ a dick like that drag us down anymore.”

“It’s such bullshit,” I mutter, setting a tin of pie in the center of the makeshift circle we’ve created. I curl up next to Gerard and rest my head on his shoulder. “We’re too fucked up for him? S’not like we held a gun to his head and said he had to stay in with us.”

“Exactly!” Ray agrees. “He said he wanted to hang with us, but he knew that was a lotta staying in and playin’ video games. He should’ve seen it coming. S’not our fault he’s pissy about a mess he got himself into.”

“I have no idea who this guy is,” Pete says. “But he sounds like a fuckin’ dick. Good thing you dropped him.”

“We’ve got you guys now,” Mikey says shyly. “And you already seem so much better.”

He’s right. That’s four more people we’ve added to our group in the span of a week, and they already seem miles better than Bob. It’s easier, when mental illness is the common link because we avoid things like what happened with Bob. Ray is the only one who doesn’t have any mental illnesses, but he’s been friends with us so long that he’s used to it. He’s not gonna get tired of it. 

A noise of indignation breaks the silence that’s fallen over the room and we all turn to look at the source.

Jack is looking at the pie like it’s an exploding grenade, while Alex is whispering something to him, probably all the reasons he _should_ eat because food is _good_ for him. 

It’s bullshit.

That’s not gonna help. Alex can talk about how food is a necessity for human life and starving will literally _kill_ him until he’s blue in the face but none of it is gonna help. Jack has an eating disorder and eating disorders aren’t magically cured by some choice words or a fresh set of calories.

I lift my head and cranes my neck, trying to hear what Alex is saying. “…come on baby, please. Just eat a piece, okay? A small piece. For me. Please.”

“He’s not gonna do it,” I hear myself say, wincing as all eyes turn to me. “He’s not gonna do it for you or me or anyone else in this damn room. Or maybe he will, choke down a tiny piece and either puke it up a minute later or spend half the night being tortured by his head about how pathetic and weak he is. He needs to do this for himself, and to get there, he needs to realize he has a problem and _want_ to get better.”

“What if he never wants to?” Alex shoots back. I can see tears in his eyes. “Don’t you get it? I can’t lose him!”

“So you want him to get better as a convenience to you?”

“No! I want him to get better because he deserves to see himself the way I see him.” The words are punctuated by a sob. “I want him to see himself as beautiful, because he’s the most beautiful person on this goddamn planet and it.” Another sob. “It fucking _kills_ me that he doesn’t see that because that’s _all_ I see.”

…

“Alex, hey, can we talk?”

Alex looks at me with red, teary eyes, and I sigh. I didn’t want to snap at him or be that blunt about things, but he gave me no choice. He doesn’t understand eating disorders and going at it the way he is, trying to force Jack to eat, is just gonna push him farther and farther away until they break up. I know that would be so much worse.

I reach up and pull him into a sloppy hug, squeezing tightly. It’s not his fault. He’s trying, doing the best he can, and he _does_ have Jack’s best interest in mind. He’s just going about it wrong because he doesn’t know any better. 

“I’m sorry,” I say, as I pull away, looking him in the eye. “I didn’t mean to be an ass. But you gotta understand…eating disorders aren’t cut and dry. There’s no black and white logic bullshit. It’s a ton of gray and it’s messy and it sucks all the time, but it’s not gonna be like this forever.”

“I just…I can’t lose him, Frank,” Alex whispers. The tears start again, rapidly falling down his cheeks. “I know I keep sayin’ it and I know I sound like the dick who only wants him better for me, but…he saved my life, Frank. He saved my life, he _helped_ me, he got me out of the hole, and the fact that I can’t do that for him, the fact that I can’t help him the way he helped me…it’s fuckin’ killin’ me.”

I sigh. “Eating disorders and self-harm are two different monsters, Alex. You can’t fight them the same way. They fuck people up differently and they gotta be handled differently. Listen, I know how this works. I’ve had professional treatment and I’ve had to do a lot of work on my own to get to where I am, and I can help. I can help you guys. I know what he’s feeling and I know what you want, so really, it’s the best of both worlds. But you gotta do it my way, okay? No more forcing food down his throat. No more making him feel guilty for not eating. And please, for the love of fuckin’ god, stop talking about how he’ll die without food. He knows. I promise he does. You’re not helpin’ anything by always sayin’ it.”

“You’ll help?” The mix of innocence and pain in Alex’s eyes is heartbreaking. “You’ll help me get my Jacky back?”

“I will,” I swear, looking him straight in the eye. “I promise.”


End file.
